Waitress
by RchHghr
Summary: Vada was one of them. They never said just what happened to her or anything about her. This is my take on just who she was.


Times are hard. What am I kidding, life is hard. You know, if you've escaped a governmental project in the snowy forests, in the mountains of Wyoming, where they made us to be machines of war. Our, I really hope they escaped. Anyways, those of us who escaped, it was not our idea. It was Zack's, our CO. He thought there was something better out there for us, but I just want to be with them. We all split, and I haven't seen anybody. I've been to the west coast and back, not one face in the mass of millions stuck out to tell me that I wasn't alone. Maybe one day, but not right now.

And I don't know if I'm ready to see any of them yet. It's been too long, and it's been a long winding road to where I am now, and if I have to change my disposition, I don't think I would be able to. We are not a unit anymore, we are civilian, and this is life as we know it. I know everything is bad, and everyone is looking on the negative side instead of the positive, but we are at rock bottom, and the only way to go is up. This country was on top once before, and it could sure as hell get there again.

Someday.

Things will change someday. Until then, I work hard to keep myself going, and defend the positive attitude I hold dear when others try to shadow it with their negative one.

"Vada, you ready?" My roommate calls to me, and I finish brushing the black mass of spiral curls I call hair, and pull it low on my neck. I may have to tie it back for work, but that doesn't mean that I cannot do it the way I want. I like to leave it low, and sprung out at work. I hate a regular ponytail, and besides, when it's pulled back like that I look like a boy, and I am not. It took me so long to grow this mass of hair, and even though it's a pain, and I want to shave it off half the time I am not. I will not return to a buzzed cut, and have my barcode exposed to the whole world. They don't need to see it, and I don't want to show it. I like living and sleeping in the morning, and all day on my days off from the diner. I like to party on the weekends, and drink with the fake i.d I own. I don't want to trade any of this up to back in the place that haunts my dreams, and waking moments as well.

"Monica, I'm coming," I pull a scrunchy to hold it back, look at my purple shadowed eyes, and pale pink lips. Work may suck, and I feel like a grease trap every time I leave, but at least I work reasonable hours, and I make a fair amount of money, and get to conversate with the people all day. What else can I ask for?

In my uniform, straightened and tidy I grab my house keys, and pull the bathroom door open to an impatient Monica, and her black painted lips.

"The ninety's called, they want their style back," I say, taking the last energy bar off the kitchen table, and putting it into the pocket in my jeans. It will be squished even before I have chance to eat it.

Applying more eyeliner on her already heavily lined eyes in her compact mirror, she bobs her head with a, "Hardy har," and snaps it shut. She looks me up and down, and then chuckles.

"Why you look so nice today, trying to impress someone at work?" She always things I look 'nice,' when I am just ready, and normal looking. I think it just has to do with me working in a diner, and her working in the Strip Club. She thinks I am proper, and 'nice.' I think she's just a ho, but I don't say that. She's twenty five, to my sixteen, and has looked out for me since we have met eight months ago. I had just come to town and was looking like a hot mess having slept against the side of a building. I had a bad feeling about living in Philadelphia, and just took off, and arriving in Manhattan New York she saw me, and we clicked. I got her papers for her to stay here, and she let me live with her, so we share the rent, along with her older sister and her boyfriend. With the four of us in this two bedroom, it's cramped, a mess, and something new being put in all the time, junk food to put any small kid on a sugar rush all over, and I couldn't ask for anything else. I think it's the life I'm meant to live. Everything about this place feels right and I enjoy it so much. I can't ask for more and I won't.

"I look nice everyday cuz' I got it like that," I smile, and stick my t0ngue out at her, "Now come on, I'mma be late to work."

"Yeah yeah," she says getting her purse and ankle killers and we leave the apartment and get into her car. I usually walk but last night Monica got plastered so I thought'd I hang around this morning to make sure that she was okay. She was, so I'm making her drive me to work today with the excuse that I overslept. She didn't complain cuz' she needs to pay the gas bill before we're totally screwed.

At the diner I give her a small wave as she drives away. I'm not saying she's the worst driver on the road, but she is one of the many nuts on it. When I take the wheel to her car I can be just as nutty, though when I did that one time up on the highway I got pulled over. She has never gotten pulled over which totally sucked.

The place never changes; the boss has told me so. He has owned the place for a good thirty years and even with the pulse it stayed the same. It must be nice to have something stay neutral for you when your whole world is spinning out of control. It smells the same everyday; of greasy foods and banana smoothies.

I wave to the other waitress on staff. She's about ready to go home in another hour but the look in her eyes says that she wants to go home now. I don't blame her. With some of the customers here you get tired and just want to hit them over the head with a tray, and then just the feeling of grease on your face at the end of the day is just annoying. It only makes it all worthwhile when you reach into your pocket at the end of your shift and pull out the tips. If you didn't make a good amount at the end of the day your mood is sour and you once again want to hit those people over the head with that tray.

But it's still cool.

Once I'm on and my apron is on I see my first customer sitting in the back near where the bathrooms, in the back with the more appeal of just how runned down the place is and I stop in my tracks. I'd recognize that face anywhere, even in a crowd of millions. It's Zack. He's alive and he's sitting in the diner as if he is another customer, but something is off. I can see it in the way he sits. He's not feeling good and his eyes are very dark and tired.

I go back into the kitchen and get a pitcher of milk, that's what he needs. One day I was feeling bummed and like shit and she brought me milk just knowing that it would help me and it did.

I go over to his table and set the jug on the table and just like I'm supposed to I say, "Hi, my name is Vada and I'll be waitress. What can I get?"

He doesn't look at me at first, just staring ahead as if he's lost in thought, but then his eyes trek to me and stare me down as if I'm a monster; like something from the basement. I'm not, and I don't think it's intentional but he's sizing me up, trying to understand if what his mind processes is right. It is. Maybe he just doesn't believe it.

I eye the rowdy crew coming in of teenage boys from the local high school. It's Saturday and by the looks of their jackets they are the local boys from the high school's football team. I don't go to school, but some came in before and harassed me. With the whole team here they are gonna have the mortality of a nut and bother me even more. They will leave shit for a tip and go on with their day as if they don't know that they piss me off.

But Zack is here. Maybe he can do something and put them in their place. He's one person but has the macho of twenty. He can take out every single one of them even if they just looked at me the wrong way. I do hope so. That would be something nice to see.

"Can I get you anything to eat sir?" I ask, using my waitressy voice; yes that's what it is. It's only used for that, so it has its own bracket.

"Anything, I don't care what." He's still staring at me as if he doesn't believe it. I haven't seen him in forever and I'm not going ga-ga over him. I knew one day that I would see him again and it has come true.

I nod and disappear into the back and soon enough I have a burger and fries for him. I set it down and because I have more customers I tell him I'll see him later, a saying, I guess and take care of the other customers, which a few are my big tippers. Hooray.

Though I am serving everyone else, I keep an eye out for him, Zack. He eats his food and leaves the money to pay for it and a tip. There is also a piece of paper that says he will wait until my shift is over.

So, with the excitement of waiting for him time does not go by fast but somehow it ends my shift. I grab my jacket and say goodbye to everyone before leaving. Outside I see Zack leaning against the building like all the dead beats around here. I walk over to him and we walk down the street.

"So, were you looking for me?" I ask him. He shows no emotions, just a straight face from years and years of practice.

"I'm always looking for everyone," he responds. I know he won't go into detail.

I don't know what else to say to him. There are so many questions inside but every time I try to open my mouth nothing comes out. It's like I want to know about that old life but I'm afraid that once I start and know I can never go back. I just can't do that; I can't take a stroll down that memory of pain.

So I don't say anything and we just head on down the street, two lost souls with nothing left; no connection to one another, just a knowing that nothing will be alright again.

"Vada, you've sure grown up. You're just what I have always pictured you to be. Are you happy? Are you happy with the life you are living right now?"

I consider this. Am I happy? Do I enjoy my life, the people in it and the job and place where I am at right now? Do I? Do I?

"Yes," I nod my head, "I am happy with the life I live."

"Look," he pulls me to a halt and hands me a piece of paper, closing my fingers around it, "There are two numbers on the paper; the first one is the check in number. Check in periodically. The second number is the emergency contact number. If any trouble should come your way call that number and whoever is the closest to you will come and help you escape that trouble."

I nod.

"I'm happy that you can live a normal life. Some of the others, they are not lucky enough or they think this whole place is a playground just for them." I don't know who he is referring to and I don't want to. I'm just glad that some of us are fine and living a life that makes them happy. We didn't choose this but we just have to make the best out of it.

"Thank you Zack." I put out my arms and he comes into them and raps his around me tightly. I won't cry, I will just smile and be happy.

When we pull away I stand on my tip toes and pick him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for not putting any pressure on me and just letting me live."

He walks off into the night and I make my way home. I know I can kick butt and all; I just don't want to be out here where I know trouble will find me.


End file.
